


John Hates the Cold

by Caslocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Ficlet, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caslocked/pseuds/Caslocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working a case on Christmas Eve is the last place John Watson wants to be. (Christmas Fluff, Snowball Fights, and Snowy Kisses ensue).</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Hates the Cold

John was cold. Bone achingly cold. He doesn’t think he's ever been this cold in his entire life, not even that time Harry locked him out of the house on Christmas day when he was sixteen for smashing her bottle of cheap booze. That had been a bad night. But this, this was so much worse. He and Sherlock had been on a case all day, on bloody Christmas Eve, and it had dragged over into the early evening when John should've been in their room at the inn sitting by the fire with biscuits and tea and...God if he thought about tea right now he’d bloody lose it right here on the pavement. They were outside a biking shop in a small village outside London, where the latest victim had been murdered. It was another dead body for his flatmate to analyze, another step closer to solving the mystery, another hour John got to spend outside in the fucking cold. He cursed silently, warm breath escaping his mouth and billowing in front of him. He was standing off to the side of the crime scene as Sherlock and what seemed like the entirety of Scotland Yard examined the latest victim of the serial killer they’d been tracking all day. He tightened his grip on his jacket, looking up at the snow filled sky with a silent glare. The sun was beginning to disappear, and so with it any warmth that it had provided. He huffed irritably, watching Sherlock talk animatedly with his hands as he explained his deductions to the police, the only hint that he was cold in the spots of color high on his cheeks. Damn him. As if summoned out loud, Sherlock suddenly strode towards him, grinning in that way that lit up those otherworldly eyes. He was rubbing his gloved hands together, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Brilliant! I’ll admit, the squirrel from this morning had thrown me a bit, but it’s definitely the ex-wife. Oh, she thought she was being clever, but once I saw the-.” Sherlock suddenly halted, his eyes looking John over with intense scrutiny. John fought to keep his teeth from clattering when he bit out,

“What?”

“You’re cold.” Sherlock didn’t phrase it as a question, and it wasn’t meant to be one.

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.” John rubbed his arms, trying to create warmth in the cheap fabric of his coat. Sherlock’s head was tilted slightly, his brow creased. Before John could ask him if he had something on his face, Sherlock snapped out,

“Lestrade!” The silver haired man walked quickly towards them, looking slightly exasperated at the rude summons.

“Yeah, Sherlock?”

“I think you’ve got all you need for an arrest. Scotland Yard can manage that much, after all.” Lestrade blinked at Sherlock as he began to walk away, motioning with a gloved hand for John to follow. John muttered a confused apology to Lestrade before following the detective, walking quickly to catch up to the brisk pace he had set.

“Where are we going?” John tried not to make it sound like a whine, already imagining a night filled with standing out in the cold.

“Back to the inn.” John blinked.

“Really?” John tried not to sound too hopeful, glancing up at his flatmate.

“Yes, John, do try to keep up. If I say something to you, I mean it.” John fell silent, too happy that he’d be warm again soon to take offense. They walked silently back to the inn, the snow falling lazily around them. The shops they passed were all decorated lovingly and with care, handmade paper snowflakes and lights strung everywhere, nothing like the garish lights of the city. Although John loved London, the village had its own charm. Much like his companion. He glanced up at the man beside him, and seeing that it was Christmas Eve, took a silent moment to just be grateful. John didn’t dwell much on the what ifs. He lived in the present as much as possible. But right now, with the snow falling, and the faint chime of the church bells in the distance, he was thankful for the man beside him. They’d moved in together two years ago, after that fateful meeting at Bart’s, and it had been nothing but mayhem. And John had loved every moment. Every miserable night out in the cold, every life threatening moment, every fantastic deduction, and every moment spent with the git who had said them. Sherlock chose that moment to look at him, probably reading the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes, the fond smile on his face, and the open adoration in his eyes. Sherlock was peering into his eyes right now, and if John let it go on much longer, let himself think of what if’s and would be’s, he’d do something truly stupid. He turned his head with a shiver, though from the cold or the moment was up for debate. Sherlock huffed in annoyance, and when John turned to look at him, he had stopped walking to shed his coat.

“What are you doing?” John gaped, as Sherlock stepped closer to him, hands holding out the Belstaff.

“We have another twenty minutes of walking until we get back to the inn, and I can’t stand your shivering anymore. It’s quite distracting.” John eyed the coat longingly glancing up at Sherlock.

“Then you’ll be cold.” Before he could protest further, Sherlock stepped up close to him and placed the coat around his shoulders, pulling the sides closed around John’s frame. Immediately John was flooded by the warmth of the heavy coat, and the scent of the owner. That rich cologne he had gotten from Mrs. Hudson two years ago that he had insisted he hated, leather, and his shampoo that cost more than John really wanted to think, but that did wonder for Sherlock’s curls. The combination of warmth and Sherlock around him caused a contented sigh to escape him before he could do anything, and when he glanced up at Sherlock in embarrassment, he was met with an amused smirk. He was still standing too close. One tiny step and what little space between them would be a faded memory. But then there was the work, and the thought of that always made John halt any wishes he might have had. He cleared his throat, pulling the coat tighter around himself.

“We should keep walking.” John said flatly, like a soldier following his own orders, and Sherlock nodded. So they began walking again. They made it to the outskirts of town, and were greeted by shouting. As they came around a bend in the road, the source of the shouting came into view, ten girls and boys pelting each other with snowballs from behind impressive forts. John chuckled as one young boy was hit on the side of the face with a well made slush ball, as the young girl who’d thrown it cheered.

“Ridiculous.” Sherlock scoffed next to him once they'd passed the children.

“What? You never had snowball fights?” John glanced at the detective with a small smile. “Not even with Mycroft?” Sherlock scowled.

“By the time I was old enough to actually be able to throw a ball of snow, Mycroft was already a bigger pain in my arse than he is presently. So no, I never participated.” John hummed thoughtfully, imagining a tiny Sherlock all suited up in his snow gear, huffing and trying to pack a ball of snow with his tiny, gloved hands. He smiled a little at the image. A mischievous glint entering his eye unexpectedly, and he stopped abruptly and turned to his companion.

“You’re big enough to throw one now, right?” John smiled innocently,relishing the look of confusion on Sherlock’s face.

“John what are you-” Sherlock broke off when John darted away, running through the snow and into the sparsely wooded area. “John! Stop being ridiculous!” Sherlock shouted from where he stood, squinting into the woods from under the light of the street lamp. “We’re not ten years old!” When no response came from the woods, Sherlock took a step forward. “John?” Sherlock opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the cold smack of a well made snowball hitting the side of his face. John whooped from where he stood behind a wide tree, watching as Sherlock spluttered and wiped the snow away. “John,” Sherlock practically growled his name, “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Big talk from a man who’s got half his face coated in slush.” John teased, peeking out from behind the safety of his tree. He was greeted by a snowball to the face. Hard. “Ack! Right in my nose!” John snorted, frantically wiping the snow off his face in time to see Sherlock darting away down a hill. “Oi, get back here!”

“Oh come on John, surely you can keep up! I thought you were in the army!” Sherlock called behind him, shooting him a huge grin.

Bastard.

John pumped his legs harder, the decline of the hill allowing him to gain momentum on his flatmate much quicker than expected, and when Sherlock tried to glance backwards to see where John was, he was surprised by a heavy weight tackling him from behind. Down they went, rolling in a tangled heap down the hill that never ended. It was a mess of curses and laughter, and entirely too much snow before they finally landed in a pile at the bottom of the hill. They were still laughing, John wiping the snow out of his eyes and looking down to see himself on top of Sherlock, who was nearly in tears. John sucked in a breath, all the air knocked out of him like a swift kick to the gut. Sherlock looked....beautiful. The tumble had done something wonderful to Sherlock, his hair dusted lightly with snow, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and his laughter. John didn’t hear it very often, it was always at the most random of times, and when he did hear it it didn’t last very long. Maybe ten seconds of genuine laughing before Sherlock became as composed as always, and John was left to mourn the loss. But Sherlock was still laughing and smiling now, his eyes crinkled at the corners in obvious mirth, and right now John wanted nothing more than to kiss him like that. Kiss him while he was laughing, and feel that gorgeous smile on his lips. After a few more moments, Sherlock’s laughter tempered down into soft chuckles, the smile still lighting his face. Then Sherlock stopped laughing all together and looked up at him, meeting John’s eyes as he lay underneath him, and it was electric.

“John?” Sherlock breathed out.

“Yeah?” John replied softly, the disappointment already pooling in his stomach at the inevitable brush off. They’d pick themselves up, brush off the snow, and never mention any of this again. They’d go back to being John and Sherlock, together, but very much separate.

“You have some ice in your eye lashes.”

“What?” John stared, caught off guard.

“You have some ice…” Sherlock repeated slowly, reaching up to gently brush his thumbs across John’s eye lids, John closed his eyes under the touch before he could register what was going on. When the touch lifted, and he blinked open his eyes gently, Sherlock was much closer than he had been before, his face leaning up towards John. All John had to do was lean down an inch. Maybe less.

“Sherlock..” John murmured softly, barely audible, close enough to feel Sherlock’s warm breath ghosting across his lips.

“John,” Sherlock glanced down at his lips, then back up to his face. “If you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to shove a snowball up your nose.” John didn’t waste another second, leaning in closer to brush his lips gently against Sherlock’s. The kiss was soft and slow, almost teasing, the two feeling no need to rush. John gently sucked Sherlock’s bottom lip, feeling the other man’s shudder beneath him. Sherlock brought up his hands to rest on either side of John’s face, the touch icy but very welcome. After what seemed like ages, they reluctantly broke apart, their foreheads lightly touching as they just occupied each others space. Eventually John opened his eyes, pleased at his flat mate’s kiss swollen lips, and slightly mussed hair. He brought his hand up to cup Sherlock’s cheek, the other man leaning into the touch while still keeping their foreheads connected.

“Thought you were married to your work.” John eventually said, stroking his thumb across Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock smirked, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well I thought you were gay.” John stared wide eyed at him before they broke into a fit of laughter, sides heaving from the strain. John leaned down to capture Sherlock’s lips again while he laughed, relishing in the chuckles against his mouth. He didn’t mind the cold anymore.


End file.
